Prelude 12-21
by A.V Storm
Summary: Elsa Eriksen is a young woman living in Burgess endlessly haunted by the untimely death of her parents. When she is deemed unfit by the personal staff of her household attendants, she is advised to see a psychologist by the name of Kozmotis Pitchiner; a brilliant doctor who is seeing another patient by the name of Jackson Overland. [AU!REAL LIFE JELSA. Jack/Elsa.]


**Author's Notes:**

I keep getting messages about my prior Jelsa stories that make me feel a little sad that I no longer have the interest in them that I once did, so I'm trying something new to get myself back into them. I've had this idea for a while, so here's the creative interest that I thought about pursuing while writing some of my other Jelsa stories. I expect this one will be a bit more adult. It'll deal with you know, real issues that people have. I'll try to portray them as best as I can.

Also, funny story, last January I ran into Chris Pine and he was not so friendly. LOL… My sister told him she loved him though…! ;) Sorry voice actor of Jack Frost. It was a bit of a huge surprise to see you there.

* * *

 _Deep breath, take a deep breath…_

The pulsing thoughts of her mind lulled her senses as she slipped into the entryway of the clinic. Her gaze broadened to the new sights of the passageway, being led through the doors and coaxed by its receptionist. In which case, Elsa tried to recall how many times she'd had to breathe deeply in order to function correctly. It seemed like the only mantra that she knew anymore, as her pale blue eyes searched around the hallway for any hopes of escaping. Especially as the floral wallpaper blurred beside her, despite that she tried to focus on them.

"You can settle yourself in there, dear. Doctor Pitchiner will be here soon – don't worry about making yourself at home.

The sound of the door clicking open caused Elsa to tilt her head at the kindhearted receptionist. She was a heart-faced woman, with auburn hair and bright eyes. But it was difficult to focus on her face when she saw the woman's long hand reach to put pressure on the silver handle of the door. There were dark freckles on her arm. Elsa blinked at them as she passed through the clinical office, barely making out the golden gleam of a name that was printed against the siding of the office wall.

 _Doctor Kozmotis Pitchiner._

Her heart thudded inside of her ribcage, bouncing as heavily as a snare drum. In all twenty-one years that she had been a human being, she had never thought once that she would end up in therapy to overcome her own mental health. The name was only a reminder that she was in a place that made her skin crawl with unwanted attention. But as she sank into the office of the psychologist, she tried to unwind as her thoughts circulated pessimistically.

"Thank you for your help." Elsa told the young receptionist again, blinking back the pressure in her throat. Her hands rested together in front of her, unsure if anyone had heard her when the door sealed back into its place behind her with a cold thud. Brushing her dark skirt with clammy hands, Elsa looked upon the room. It was as typical as any doctor's office would be; wide and spacious, plenty of room to move around – yet there were a vast amount of differences. Regardless, her pale hands wove around themselves nervously as she came upon a small set of stairs and onto the beige carpeted flooring. Her gray flats made scarcely any noise at all when she trekked upon the soft surface, causing her to wonder if she was truly there whatsoever. It all felt like an unpleasant dream.

There was no emotional warmth in the vicinity. Her azure gaze peered harder, feeling her mouth clamp together and her teeth jut uncomfortably with the way her jaw was set so stubbornly. There was a desk above the lining of the flooring that held a Mac computer, among various instruments and utensils that would be useful for someone of his caliber. The inner locale was rich with the scent of lemon polishing. Every extension of the room was unruly clean; the carpets must have been vacuumed daily, Elsa thought. Her gaze wandered to the white walls, pandering across the portraits that the doctor left behind to display his taste for art. However, she finally exhaled when she came upon the middle of the room despite her desire to take a longer look at the portraits that embroidered the expansion.

Leather couches were placed there; dark burgundy in color, and quite more comfortable than standing on her feet. Elsa sank into the depths of the cushions with wonder, staring at their length. It came to her attention that the sitting area _was_ designated for those who enveloped irregular psychological behavior. And for that moment, the woman faltered in her own uncertainty. Her chest rose and fell as she brushed one cool hand against her forehead with weariness. She closed her eyes briefly in order to revel where she was truly, for the first time in a half an hour. But she would not sit unless it came with an invitation. Perhaps it was her swollen pride that prevented her as she reopened her vision to look at the visiting area.

But then the sound of the door knob clicking caused Elsa's shoulders to straighten, knowing fully who had arrived when his sly voice came to disrupt the silence.

"Elsa Eriksen, I presume?"

She looked back over the small set of stairs to see a man. He was well dressed, quipped with a typical suit and tie. In most ways, he fit the man that he was supposed to be. Kozmotis Pitchiner was quite the name; bizarre in all ways possible. And as she gazed further at him while his lengthy legs stepped downwards, she thought it fitted him. Especially as he drew closer with a file tucked neatly under his arm. Elsa watched that instead of looking upon his face momentarily, before realizing that she was being rude by not returning his adrift sentiment.

"Yes." One syllable before another breath of air was drawn, forcing herself to continue while her eyes blinked and adjusted to the sight of him. "You must be Doctor Pitchiner… It's a pleasure."

As the man drew nearer, Elsa could see him clearer than before. He was pale; achromatically so, which stood in contrast to his black hair. At first, she didn't know what to think. His build was lean, rather tall; but she couldn't decide if he was handsome or not. The fresh faint trace of hair carried down his long jawline. His cheekbones were high and set firmly. However, when Elsa came to the recognition that he was a doctor again, she allowed her muscles to ease ever so slightly. If seeing a professional meant easing her own heavy conscience, she planned to succeed for her own mentality.

She was surprised by the honesty he spoke when his mouth finally parted again.

"Is it? Considering the circumstances, I hardly thought you would say such a thing." He smiled warmly enough to show his teeth, which were slightly uneven. "But I treasure your politeness. There's so little of it in the world. Why don't you take a seat?"

He had an accent that was rich and melodic; relaxing in every way. There was no wonder to her that a majority of Burgess considered him to be the best psychologist in town. But even then, her own privacy and secrecy came to greet her again. Elsa tried to smile, but the faintness of that was a braving inch of her own insecurities. And as such, she attempted to seem as diplomatic as he had said she was. It was a compliment to say the least.

"Thank you." She murmured, placing herself down on the furniture. It was slightly stiff, but she ignored the feeling against the back of her spine. Pitchiner's smile became a grimace when he slipped around the couch and onto its dual chair. He exhaled when he sat down, seemingly undeterred. The paper file under his arm was placed on the green glassed coffee table that kept them apart as a medium, but he did not sit down. Elsa stared at the unknown set of papers, wondering what they entailed to. Yet Pitchiner's voice kept her acutely grounded.

"Are you thirsty?"

As the question came before them, Elsa noticed that he did not wait for an answer. Instead, his black loafers crushed against the carpet to leave faint trail marks from his heavy footprints. It suddenly occurred to her how warm the room was. Carefully, Elsa pushed the sleeves of her shirt up higher against her forearms. Fortunately the fabric was slim. She had prearranged the winter weather, but not the temperature of the heater that Burgess Mental Health freely offered.

"A little." Elsa responded honestly. Her eyebrows raised as he crossed the area towards his oak cabinets. The way that he moved was professionally and premeditated, especially when he reached over to retrieve two plastic cups. Above the headboard of the bookshelf, the doctor filled them both from a blue water dispenser.

It was another reminder that she was there for her own mental wellness. In which case, she allowed another gust of air to fill her lungs. Ultimately, she was unsure whether or not she was relieved by his awareness. But she spoke anyway, hoping that her words made a difference from how she felt.

"Thank you again."

But Kozmotis Pitchiner spoke no more about the thin cup that he placed before her. Elsa reached it between two pinched fingers and slowly swallowed the lukewarm water the filled her mouth thereafter. It definitely could have used some ice, but she doubted that the doctor had any of that around, and knew it would be impolite to ask.

"So, your… Caretaker sent me your files." Pitchiner's voice was lightly critical as his gaze roved over her file. Elsa exhaled, wondering what the tone of his criticism meant when she put the cup down on the glass table again.

"Hilda." She corrected him, sounding neither fond nor distrustful.

"Yes, that was her name." He licked his thin lips warily. They were an intriguing pointed shape. "Who is she?"

"A family friend." Elsa inserted dully. The doctor watched her carefully, clicking his teeth a bit while waiting for her to explain. Even that was difficult to talk about. "She's been taking care of my sister and I since we were children…"

In her opinion, calling Hilda a maid sounded awful and contrived. Especially since she had worked for her parents since she and Anna had been children… Consequently, Pitchiner smiled with ease – likely because he already understood, especially when he admitted next that he had already read over her hospital transcripts.

"I see." He paused, but only lightly before continuing in the same flow of words as before. Just as gentle; like he was speaking a poem or a lullaby. "I did my own research last night after your records were transferred to me. And I believe that what we are dealing with is a rather severe case of Dysthymia and an anxiety disorder of some kind – but I am unsure which."

Eyes faltering, Elsa looked at her hands with inevitable shame. In some ways, she knew this was coming despite years of avidly denying her own flaws. But she had her own persona to live up to – and therefore, any begrudging feelings on her own behalf were shut down.

"You know that just from reading my file…?"

"I suspect, but I do not know just yet." Pitchiner continued patiently, pausing to readjust himself on the leather chair across from her. But his gaze intensified, and if there was one thing Elsa didn't like, it was make eye contact with someone who was so unfamiliar to her. Trust was valuable; but she did not give it freely.

"So, Miss Eriksen… Tell me a bit about yourself."

The room seemed to deepen with heat with every passing second. Elsa felt her hands clutch around themselves above her lap, looking at them. What did she have to say about herself? Was she expected to tell him everything about her in just the last ten minutes that they had met? Is that what others did when their mental health began to decline after years of denial and isolation…?

"Excuse me, I'm not used to this sort of thing." Elsa murmured frankly. She got the feeling that was exactly what Kozmotis Pitchiner had anticipated. He only inhaled lightly, hasty to respond as soon as her own certainty wavered.

"Take your time." He advised, rustling her file. It rested on the coffee table again, barely making any noise as the paper scraped across it. Her stare took homage on his hands, which rested on the knees of his finely pressed slacks. "Would it be easier if I asked the questions?"

Her mouth opened to respond, but when no words came, she nodded. In his presence, she felt terribly exposed. Being analyzed was not a privilege. Even nonchalant head gestures felt difficult.

"Alright." Pitchiner began again, leaning up in his seat to take a better look at her. "So you're from Oslo, Norway, is that correct…? Your father was an government representative there."

Mouth crushing together into a frown, Elsa wondered just how much Hilda had told the staff about her problems. But had little problem mentioning her parents as long as it came to socialism. They had been dead three years; in some ways, she had moved on. But in most ways, she hadn't.

"Yes. We moved here when I was nine. My mother spent quite a bit of her childhood in Burgess, they had dual citizenship. They thought it would be fitting for my sister and I to indulge in both cultures of the world."

"Interesting." Pitchiner again rearranged himself on the leather chair. He spent a few seconds checking the time on his bronze wristwatch before continuing.

"But they passed away when you were eighteen."

"Yes…"

"I get the feeling that your depression may have begun sooner."

"I surmise that it did." Elsa breathed, finally looking up at him again. Her short answers were fatiguing, even for her; despite that her tone was now accusatory. "How did you know?"

His answer was not what she had been anticipating. The corners of his pointed lips shaped upwards into a small simper while he reached up with one hand to point at his temple.

"I have a knack for this sort of thing. Childhood nightmares are a deep fascination of mine, and I have a feeling that yours started early."

And then the silence swelled. Elsa swallowed grimly while the lower set of her teeth grasped her lip. Doctor Pitchiner didn't seem like someone that she could trust, but she knew that there were those in her life that were worried… Hilda, Anton, her professors at Burgess University, and of course, _Anna_ … The younger sister that she scarcely spoke to, despite that their bedrooms were only feet apart from one another.

"Forgive me, Mister Pitchiner, but…" Elsa tried her very hardest to deliver her next response as confidently as she could. Despite that she had the worst feeling that the psychologist could see right through her as she faced him bravely. "This is very difficult for me to talk about."

"I apologize for making you feel uncomfortable." This time, their eyes did meet. For the first time since she arrived, she saw the unique shade of his irises; they were dark gray, like a clot of blackened clouds during a storm. She faltered momentarily, attempting to decide amongst herself if they were beautiful or not.

"Would you like to take a moment? Walk around the room? We can talk about something else, if you'd rather. It's important to me that my patients stay comfortable." Pitchiner responded as friendly as ever while his hands folded together. Elsa held her doubts that she would see him any differently, nor would feel less foreign being housed by his doctorate degree. But she nodded regardless; standing up on two rubbery legs, but not straying too far away as she went.

Kozmotis Pitchiner was clearly someone who had a great taste in art of every kind. As she passed his many sets of cabinets, her gaze flickered over the endless sets of books he had alphabetized. A quirk that belonged to her as well, since she had been old enough to learn to read. For a brief second, Elsa considered mentioning it to him, but decided against it has her own blue eyes swerved over his portraits. They were darker than anything else in the room, perhaps giving off the essence of the portrait keeper. Two of them were paintings done by Van Gogh; one was by Lee Michael Tiller. The last one she did not recognize whatsoever, despite straining her mind's eye to make a familiar connection.

But then there was her favorite of all…

"Where are you from, Mister Pitchiner?" Elsa asked pleasantly. When she looked back at him on the sofa, his head tilted towards the sound of her voice. But it surprised her nonetheless to see just how far she had trekked across his office floor on her own whims. And for the first time since her arrival, she saw that part of his hair was shaven which aligned with the definition of his elongated jaw. She thought that fictionally, to herself, he appeared as though he had walked right out of a renaissance painting.

"England, in a little town called Framlingham…" He responded tritely, shooting her an amused smirk. She wished that it was as simple for her to discuss herself as it was for him. But even so, he sounded more joking when he resumed.

"Did my accent give it away?"

If there was any such luck, Kozmotis Pitchiner might actually have a sense of humor, which eased her slightly.

"Somewhat." She smiled, laughing a bit under her breath. "Is this _The Red Vineyard_ by Vincent Van Gogh?"

"Impressive. You know your art, not many people your age would recognize it."

"My father was a collector. Van Gogh was always my favorite."

"We have that in common." His voice was cautious; as though he were stepping around shattered glass by his words alone. Despite that, his eyebrows jumped up the span of his short forehead to watch her even further with surprise. "But I can see that is difficult for you to discuss."

Elsa drew in another breathy inhale. Psychologists, therapy… It all seemed measly. A last resort. Therefore, she could only linger on her own regrets as words escaped her before her mind had enveloped them. Normally she was the sort of young woman to keep her responses under tight wraps. But now was not that time.

"I apologize." They started again at another short answer on her own petty behalf. The psychologist frowned, before he stood up to look at her.

"You mustn't apologize for things that are out of your control, Miss Eriksen." Pitchiner spoke quietly as he tilted his head sideways. Elsa tried to imagine what she looked like in his eyes. Fragile, perhaps – defeated. And that was insulting, despite that his perception couldn't be far off.

"Do you often blame yourself for trivial matters that are not a fault of your own hand?"

"I don't know." Elsa said uncertainly. Pitchiner lifted his head marginally to raise his brows for her to bear witness to his own conclusions.

"I'll take that as a yes."

Pitchiner strolled around the expanse of his office, resting both of his hands in the pockets of the impressive wardrobe that he wore. Elsa had always been conscious of detail; one reason that she had considered architecture or style as her future profession. In some ways, the older gentleman didn't see so different from her. Although she doubted that she could teach herself to trust him, she stumbled a bit. He was a doctor, and surely he understood.

Furthermore, he leaned against the couch; his long arms folded across his torso. Until finally…

"I know you aren't comfortable talking about your problems yet, but I need to know what sort of symptoms that you have. Your caretaker says that you have frequent nightmares and that is why she wanted you to see someone. She also claims that you have isolated yourself for the past thirteen years – and that's ten years longer since your parents passed away."

"And what would you suggest for someone like me?" Elsa questioned impulsively. She watched him from the few feet that they were apart, waiting for his professional satire to rise again. And for a few seconds, Kozmotis Pitchiner was quiet. But eventually, his mouth moved again.

"I have nothing to suggest for now. But I would like to get you prescribed for a medication of some kind. However, I will need to see you a few more times until I decide…"

"Do many of your patients have frequent night terrors?"

The insert of her own came abruptly. And from the moment it was spoken, Elsa questioned her own authenticity. But it seemed as though the therapist was more than willing to elaborate on his prior statements.

"Yes." Pitchiner retorted calmly. One of his pale hands stroked across his jaw with careful thought and deliberation. "But don't worry, there are solutions to every problem and I will help you, so long as you can learn how to trust me. I don't anticipate that it will happen overnight, but I'll be here for however long you need."

That was all Elsa needed while the back of her mind screamed at her to retreat. If the doctor himself was offering her fealty, she would not spend another few minutes there if he was freeing her. And thus, Elsa Eriksen breathed in deeply through her lungs to take in the air and the oxygen all around her.

"Thank you, Doctor Pitchiner." She said, hoping that she sounded genuine despite that her own fuss was flaring up as dangerously as a first degree burn. Surprisingly, Pitchiner was as courteous and cunning as ever.

"You're welcome. If you would rather this appointment ended now, that is fine. But I have some homework for you."

"Homework?" Elsa choked, knowing that her throat was beginning to dry. If he truly thought that her own mental wellness was as crucial as her college schoolwork was, well… He would have another thing coming to him.

But what he said made her feel relieved, despite that his chuckle was a little unnecessary considering the circumstances of their delivery.

"Yes. Perhaps you could try and keep a dream diary – or even attempt to collect records of moments when you have another anxiety attack. I need to know what triggers your symptoms."

"I will try…" There was no promise to what she said. In her opinion, as long as Anna or Hilda knew that she had attended a meeting with a competent physician, there was no need for them to worry any longer. Judging from Pitchiner's stare, however, she suspected that avoiding him would be difficult, despite his common courtesy to walk her to the door.

"Perfect, then… Next Wednesday at the same time, will that appease you?"

"I think so… I will call you if we need to reschedule." Every response was hollowed and devoid of her own human emotion. But it was enough to fool the man into believing that she was being truthful. She saw that she had won his favor by the pleasant smile that came creeping over his lips.

"Then allow me to lead you out."

Their footsteps were not in synchronization to one another's. But he did walk her to the door just as he had promised that he would. It relieved her some to see that the entrance had a window, at least. It wasn't much, but she felt far more composed by the realization that there was an escape for her if she ever needed one. They faced each other as Pitchiner's hand landed on the silver handle. One corner of his mouth tweaked upwards again, offering her yet another sentence of advice that she didn't know how to manage.

"You don't need to look so worried, you know." He told her, teeth beginning to show as the door creaked open to show the expanse of the former hallway that she had walked. It occurred to her again how very strangely gray that his eyes were, especially now that they were little more than a foot apart in proximity. "There are plenty of people your age who – "

But as his fingers bend to push the door open even further, Kozmotis Pitchiner was lost with his sentence. For there was another personage there who had been waiting in the hallway. He wasn't much taller than Elsa was, but he peered at them both with amusement. Both his eyes and his hair were bronze of color, but only one of them was untidy. The attire that he wore was a bit surprising and lax; a dark blue jacket accompanied by tanned trousers that appeared to be a few inches too short for him.

"Mister Overland? What are you doing here?" Doctor Pitchiner asked, falling stray of his former sentence to look at the younger man again. He had been leaning against the frame, staring with mild enthusiasm at the two of them. For one moment, Elsa's eyes fixated on him. Their stares were met, but not for long as Jack grinned crookedly.

"I'm here for my therapy session, doctor." He announced loudly, pressing both of his hands into his pockets. Elsa tried her hardest not to be intrigued. And fortunately, that worked in her favor as Pitchiner beamed unpleasantly. Whoever Mister Overland was, she could see vividly that he was not happy to see him.

"Ah… It's been a few months, I didn't anticipate that you wanted to return."

"Well, I didn't. But here I am." The boy's words returned with a forced shrug. He winked at the doctor while spreading his lanky legs apart. It only occurred to Elsa how slim he was then. She wondered silently to herself how old he was…

"Don't tell me that you haven't missed me after all this time apart, Doc. I'll be terribly disappointed."

"Of course not, Jack. I wouldn't miss it for the world; I was just seeing Miss Eriksen out now." Pitchiner was an utmost gentleman, in Elsa's opinion, despite that she had little desire to express her own thoughts.

"Oh, you have another patient." Jack grinned, turning to face her finally. His laughter was loud, before he curved himself forward and spoke with evermore childishness and rudeness that Elsa thought was capable. "Then you won't mind if I give her any pointers on how best to piss you off… Right?"

"I think I would rather that you and I kept our own opinions to herself, Jack." Pitchiner announced clearly, looking at the younger man with the faintest hint of dislike. "Please, make yourself at home inside… At the very least, I can see that you chose to wear shoes for once, that is quite extraordinary for you."

Jack Overland's mouth arched with another inevitable grin. Regardless, he reached around to tap the therapist against his upper arms.

"Only for now, Pitchy. But don't worry, I'll be shoeless again before you know it."

Blinking with appalment of the actions in front of her, Elsa watched while Jack swerved around them both towards the former office she had recently departed from. Although Jack Overland would likely be the last glimmer in her mind for the rest of the evening, she instead shot a cordial smile at the doctor.

"Thank you for the help, Mister Pitchiner… I'll be responding to you soon."

Even then, she didn't know if she meant what had vocalized from her own mouth. If it were up to her, she would never see the doctor again regarding her own issues. And as they bade their own farewells between a doctor and a patient, Elsa silently came to question on her own when she left the clinic that day:

Why would someone who seemed so agile and as confident as Jackson Overland need to see a therapist?

But even as the November weather graced over her skin, Elsa quietly retreated back to her home. And not another thought was spared on the seemingly humorous, mischievous boy that she had met for a little longer than a minute. 

* * *

THANX FOR READING. I PROMISE THAT THIS HAS A PREMISE. LOL.


End file.
